


You Want Me?

by gaialux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Community: spnkink_meme, Dominance, Established Relationship, M/M, Orgasm Control, PWP, Power Dynamics, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean exerts the control he has over his little brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Want Me?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kink prompt: Dean has Sam give him a long, drawn out blowjob when Sam just wants, needs to be fucked, keeps impatiently pulling off Dean's cock thinking surely he's ready to fuck him now, surely he'd like, needs his ass now with his nice, tight, begging hole, but Dean just "nuh uh uhs" him and pushes him right back down onto his cock, tells him to just keep on sucking, he didn't say he was through with his mouth yet. Sam whimpers, whines and pouts, all desperate and squirmy but Dean ignores him, loving to hear and see him beg and won't let him even touch himself or rub himself on anything. Eventually Dean fucks Sam, while instructing him exactly how to touch himself, but then has him stop so that he comes from just Dean's cock alone.
> 
> Supernatural does not belong to me. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only, no profit is gained.

Doesn’t know how long he’s been down here, just that it _hurts_. Two places aching, and it’s sending the pain through his core and surrounding his chest. Mouth cramping around Dean’s dick and his cock...fuck, he’s heard about blue balls and decides it has to be possible – nothing, nothing could cause as much pressure as this.

“Yeah, Sam...”

Sam’s eyes shoot up and watch Dean’s body move in short gasps, sweat-slicked and hands balling into the off-white of old motel sheets. Sam’s cock twitches, fucking _hurts_ , and he moves his mouth from Dean’s spit-covered, pre-come dripping cock and it should be fucking gross – anything about _sucking your brother’s cock_ should be pretty fucking gross – but there’s more pain down below to distract him and he presses kisses to the inside of Dean’s thighs.

“Nuh uh.” Dean’s hand wraps itself into Sam’s hair and pushes him back toward his cock. “Suck.”

He’s been doing this half the day. And he knows it’s half the day, because the sun was high in the sky and now it’s sinking away. Thinks there should be something romantic about this, could be them kissing on the bed, but Dean’s forcing Sam’s mouth back onto his dick and holding. Sam’s not going anywhere toward Dean’s mouth. He’s stuck at his cock, listening to his brother gasp and groan as he trails his tongue along the length, and Dean likes the little bites Sam includes because he feels the bed sheets rise, obviously twisting in Dean’s hand and Sam wishes he could move, look up and see it, because maybe that image would be enough to make him come.

Because, like he said, it’s _hurting_.

He’s sure Dean’s close, does that little half-hitched moan and the hand twisted in Sam’s hair falls slack, allowing Sam to let his mouth off again. This time he’s faster, gets to sucking at Dean’s hip, before Dean stops dead and two hands cup Sam’s face, guides him back down.

“Not yet, Sammy,” he murmurs.

Sam doesn’t agree. Pulls himself out of Dean’s grasp and moves up his brother’s body until he’s straddling Dean’s legs between his. And he knows Dean has to want it by now, been sucking his cock for hours, and Dean’s never one for foreplay. Wants in, wants off, wants out. Doesn’t mean he’s cruel, or that he treats Sam like crap, just that he knows what he wants and it’s sex. And Sam’s fine with it – he’s wanting the same thing.

Only, this time, seems as though they’re dead opposing.

Dean’s pushing him right back down. “Didn’t say I was through with your mouth yet.”  He’s all breathy, but he sounds determined. Sam’s not just being guided, he’s being forced back down. It’s either bail out or take the cock back in his mouth. Not a hard decision; he tastes Dean again.

“Good,” Dean’s murmuring, “Yeah – suck it, Sammy.”

But he can’t keep doing it, needs some relief. Decides there’s still one option and lets his hand move down and cups his cock, mouth stopping on Dean’s as he lets out a moan.

“No, Sam.”

It’s a bark, an order, and it makes Sam stop everything he’s doing and look up at Dean. Dean’s up on his elbows, glaring down at his brother. Makes Sam feel small to see himself in those green eyes, but he’s not letting Dean know that. He moves from Dean’s length and matches his gaze.

“I told you to stay there.”

He doesn’t want to crack, but the sight of Dean – the sight of his hard dick, his sweat-coated body, the way he’s acting all strong and foreboding but his body is panting in short gasps – and Sam’s cock starts twitching. The pain’s all too strong and he lets out a whimper despite himself. It’s quiet, not even a whisper in the room, but he knows Dean can still hear it. His eyes flash, a smile tugs at his lips.

“Suck me.”

“Please, Dean --“ Doesn’t even care what he sounds like, wants this too much. “Wouldn’t you rather --? Just --"

“Mouth. On. Cock.”

Sam tries to move his hand back down, at least he can get himself off, but Dean’s bare foot swats it away and Sam lets out another whimper. He tries to let some rational part of himself take over and say that nobody’s _actually died_ from not getting off, but all of that’s gone. It’s Sam and Dean, and it’s two cocks, and it’s Sam ass that’s not getting attention, and it’s squirming and pain and begging and _pleasedeanjustletmecome_ all rolled into one irrational bundle.

“C’mon, Sam.”

Dean guides Sam’s head back down and Sam takes him again, tasting the mixture of hours’ worth of spit and pre-come and, he never thought he’d say it, but Sam wants to taste the real thing. Maybe then he wouldn’t be neglected, maybe then Dean might even let him just _move_.

“Quit squirming, Sammy.”

He says it, but Sam knows he wants it. Getting off on Sam’s pain and need with his breathy, airy voice and own moves of desperation across the bed. Only thing Sam doesn’t understand is how his brother’s held out so long.

“How, Dean?” He finally manages to gasp out when Dean’s hands relent.

Dean pushes him right back down before answers. “How what?”

Lets him up. Like some kind of puppet held under Dean’s command. “How are you lasting this long?”

“Could say the same thing about you.”

Both hands are on the back of Sam’s head now, and Dean’s in complete control. Face fucking him with long, slow movements and Sam’s almost certain Dean’s about to let go with the way he’s moaning and losing his breath, hands twisting and tugging at Sam’s hand. Doesn’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing, because Sam needs it. Needs Dean inside him or, fuck – even a _hand_ is going to be enough at this point.

With Dean distracted, he’s rubbing up against the bed, a moment of sweet relief and there’s another moan. Shouldn’t have made a sound. Even above his own sounds of pleasure, Dean has picked up on Sam’s. He stops, untwists his fingers from Sam’s hair.

“You keep doing that and you’re never getting me.”

It’s like he wasn’t even on the edge half a second ago. He’s more composed than he was even a minute prior. This rate, Sam’s never going to get anything. Won’t even get himself off. Just a continuous cycle of mouth on cock and he’s practically dribbling spit down his brother’s length. Dean doesn’t seem to mind, a flicker of Sam’s eyes to Dean’s face and he sees eyes squeezed shut, mouthing words that Sam thinks may or may not be _yeahsam, sogood, suckit_ – or something along those lines.

Sam touches himself, has to consciously hold his breath so he doesn’t make a sound. _So good._ After all of this, he doesn’t even care that he’s not being touched by Dean – but he can imagine it. Imagine Dean inside him, feels how hard he is under Sam’s mouth, how quick it’s going to be, but how hard they’re gonna come. _Yesyesdeanyes_.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Dean’s angry. Even in his half-dazed state that cuts through Sam and rips his hand away. Heart beating in a way that isn’t just need to get off, and he finds Dean’s eyes. Can’t even read them.

“You wanna touch yourself?”

Sam says nothing. His hands are on Dean’s cock now, aiding his mouth and tongue to get his brother to come. To rid his brother of any anger. The lack of release isn’t hurting as much now, as though all his priorities have finally been placed on the head of a pin, and it’s just Dean. _Deandeandean_. Chanting and swirling and everything he could ever want or need.

“Answer me.”

Something deep inside makes him. He nods, still not looking up and still paying complete attention to Dean’s cock. Swirling his tongue around the head, hands at the base. He’s subconsciously moving below the waist, but it’s just against the air. Nothing holds him, nothing takes him to offer him his own release. It’s okay, has to focus on Dean, has to focus –

“That’s enough.”

He thinks the words might be delayed in reaching him, because Dean’s hands are keening him _away_ from the attention of his cock.

“What--?”

Dean’s still pulling Sam up toward him, and Sam doesn’t know why the sudden change of heart from his brother, but he lets his knees back up onto the bed and allows Dean to pull him to the pillows, lets their lips meet. Then Dean is settling by the crook of Sam’s neck and ear, whispers of “Tell me – you wanna touch yourself?”

He’s still not answering with words, finds Dean’s lips again instead and presses his tongue into his mouth. This is better, his jaw moving differently and the ache of prolonged blowjobs not quite as prominent. Sam’s aware of Dean’s leg between his and moves rhythmically against it, moaning into Dean’s mouth and forgetting what happened the last time he tried to get off.

Dean’s not forgetting. He moves away, holds Sam an arms-length from his body and Sam’s left aching for his touch. “Nuh uh uh. Not until I say.”

“Please, Dean -- seriously.” He looks down at himself, dick as hard as it’s ever been, jutting out. He looks back up and Dean’s staring down at him, face he can’t read but he knows the anger’s not there anymore. Hopes it’s just _want_ with a side order of _fucking_. All he wants is Dean in his ass. Now. And Dean’s also gotta be wanting it, Sam can see Dean’s tongue slide over his lips, teeth biting on the lower.

“Wanna fuck?”

Sam’s just about ready to collapse with relief at the words. Not taking any delays, because he’s just spent doesn’t-want-to-remember-how-many hours sucking cock and staying hard, he’s nodding his head with what must look like the joy expected of a first timer getting his dick sucked. He catches the smirk on Dean’s face as he reaches across Sam and to the bedside table drawer. Now it’s more methodical, no detailed prep needed because he’s been ready since midday.

Dean entering him...he’s almost seeing stars. Sweet, sweet relief and he thinks he might just blow _then and there_ , but Dean stops suddenly, hands clenched into Sam’s hips and he slides thumbs down until they’re in that _crook_ where every nerve ending seems to spasm. Only he can’t come. It’s like wanting to pass out again.

“Said you wanted to touch yourself,” Dean says.

“Want you to touch me.” His voice, it’s begging and it’s breathy. He should care – _wants_ to care – but he can’t. Just wants this.

Dean’s got a wicked grin. “Uh, actually, Sammy – what I heard was _you_ wanted to touch _you_.” He rolls his hips forward, and Sam can’t stop his groan. Dean’s grin just merges to his smirk and widens. If he didn’t know any different, Sam would question whether his brother’s aware that there’s _fucking_ going on here, not practical jokes or _let’s taunt Sammy_ day. And he’s starting to wonder if Dean even knows how much Sam needs this.

“So go ahead,” Dean says, “Be my guest.”

For a split, tiny, neuron meeting neuron moment, he wants to protest and beg Dean to move hand to cock. Even just that contact, that _friction_ , it’d be enough to have Sam off. He hasn’t felt like this since the first time – or maybe ever. Can’t remember his cock throbbing this hard. Never. But that second, and that throbbing pressure, all he can do is reach down and takes his cock in his hands, offers it one tug. One tug and he’s sure, sure that it’s all over – the whole day, just that release, just that pleasure, just that – _fuck_.

“Shh,” Dean’s saying. He wraps a hand around Sam’s wrist and guides him. One long, slow stroke and Sam’s sure his eyes roll back in his head but he’s not sure of much else. “That’s it, Sammy.” Dean’s voice, it’s perfect – the way Sam wants it to be. On edge, so close. Dean’s hand falls away. “Just listen to me, do what I say.”

Sam’s eyes flutter halfway open until all he sees is a distorted version of Dean above him, hips moving ever so slightly. This image...this is the image he needs. Thinks, if he tried hard enough, that his cock wouldn’t even need attention. Just this sight of Dean, _fuck_...

“Sam,” Dean says, “You gonna listen?”

Sam nods. Not sure how he does it when he’s not even able to fully comprehend the words. Must be some primal, biological instinct that now controls his actions – tells him that his cock is still aching, that he needs to get off, that the only way it’s going to happen is by letting Dean tell him all.

“Good.” Dean moves, just that _little bit_ , and Sam sucks in a breath. “Was getting tired of your bitching.”

“Not bitching,” he tries, but it resembles more of a squeak and just makes Dean smirk down at him, hips rolling forward again. _Almost, almost_...then he stops and Sam throws his head back onto the pillow in frustration.

“Right hand. Dick.”

Sam doesn’t move. Actually, if he didn’t need so much he’d be close to laughing. But Dean’s looking serious and he’s lost the smirk. Sam just watches his brother’s hand run up his side, shudders when it passes just under his ribs, before he wraps Sam’s hand in his own.

“Thought you were gonna listen.”

“Listening.” Or that’s what he tries to say. Comes out more like one flowing sound of nothing, ends in a groan.

He lets Dean move his hand to his cock, lets him encircle the tip. Both their fingers, Sam’s on himself and Dean’s on Sam’s. Sam’s eyes fall to a close again, body clenches, and he just holds.

“Good,” Dean murmurs. He lets go, and this time Sam thinks he’s figured out what his brother wants. Keeps a grip on himself, but he doesn’t move. “Down, Sammy. Yeah, like that.”

Dean starts moving slowly and Sam can feel everything. He doesn’t even have to open his eyes – actually, it’s _better_ that he doesn’t open his eyes – he’s acutely aware of Dean inside him, of his hands wandering across Sam’s body. All of it. And everything else is gone, everything in the outside world has disappeared. It’s just his need, Dean’s need, all of it merged into one and Sam wants to hear his brother’s voice. Wants to hear his demands.

“Tell me –" he gets out in a chocked breath.

“Want me to tell you how to touch yourself?” He doesn’t know how Dean manages to stay so composed, especially when his hands are shaking, nails ebbing softly into Sam’s skin.

“Yeah – tell me.”

“Just keep moving your hand, Sammy.”

He does.

“Yeah, like that -- move your fingers up. Across -- fuck, Sam – you don’t know how good you look like that.”

He forces himself aware, eyes opening to take in Dean. Sam looks good? Then Dean must be perfect. Rocking his hips, bottom lip between his teeth with tongue twisted between. Sam moves over himself, faster, follows Dean’s words of “Across the head, yeah, yeah – like that” and “All the way down. Fuck, Sammy – perfect” to guide him, fill him, to reach him to that place he needs to be...all day, all of it, sucking Dean’s cock and he’s reaching it, here, the end, that perfect, perfect...

“Hands off.”

He hears it, but he doesn’t register it. It takes Dean’s hands pulling at him for Sam to realise he’s meant to be listening, not supposed to be pulling. His hand slides away, grips into the bed sheets and he’s covering over the marks Dean’s already coated and twisted with sweat.

Dean leans down and Sam’s covered in his brother’s warmth. It should be too hot, too sticky, too uncomfortable. It’s anything but. He kisses the side of Dean’s mouth while listening to his brother’s murmur of, “You come from _my_ cock.”

Dean moves back up immediately, and Sam’s still wrapping his head around the worlds as Dean starts moving faster, harder. His hands are digging into Sam’s hips and his mouth slackens. Sam, he’s digging into the sheets, he’s saying sounds he can’t even put words to. Hasn’t done this before, hasn’t gotten off without a touch, without friction. But now, now... _fuck_.

The look of Dean, the feel of Dean’s cock inside him. Pounding, moving, pressing _perfectly_. Dean’s mouth opens, silence stretches from it but for the tiny, breathy and hitched moan that’s Sam’s name. And it can’t even be a second, can’t even be enough to breathe, and Sam’s gone. Coming, hard. No hands, no touch, just the look of Dean – the feel of Dean pushed into him. Falling apart at the seams, sweat-covered and slick as the sheets bunched up under him from the fast, fast movement.

Dean falls on him, skin sweaty and sticking together. Sam wants it. He moves shaking arms around Dean’s body, holds him against his own and they just breathe. Together, in unison, sharp and short, and Dean’s got this crazy grin on his face that even Sam can’t kiss away.

“Think I can make you give me blowjobs more often,” Dean whispers into his hair.

  



End file.
